


Like Soldiers Do

by glittercake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cap Sam, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gratuitous Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Missions, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Secret Relationship, Sexting, Switching, Team Dynamics, did i mention domestic husbands, plot if you squint, they're horny and bad at hiding it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittercake/pseuds/glittercake
Summary: Their relationship is a beautiful secret they keep; it's something only the two of them revel in. And before they even started this thing, they agreed it wasn't something anyone needed to know.Here they're just Sam and Bucky; they're colleagues who are roommates and kind of get along. It's been fun keeping it up. There's a delicious thrill in hiding it, as well as a particular, terrifying fear they both share.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 87
Kudos: 293
Collections: Sam Wilson Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a post endgame/pre tfatws fic inspired by the super bowl clip, specifically the house in the woods etc. The new trailer revealed that house might belong to Sam's family so I've taken some liberties with this fic and said he bought one close by :)
> 
> This also fits the Secret Relationship square on my Sam Wilson Bingo card, G3.
> 
> P.S- The fic is complete and I'll post regularly

It's not really a surprise that they ended up together.

Bucky had been glued to him ever since they came out of that yellow hell hole, and Sam hadn't exactly been trying to be alone after all that, so they stuck together. 

Everything had changed rapidly and irrevocably so, people they both knew and loved were gone, the world was and still is a post-apocalyptic mess, and they'd both lost just about everything while being dusted. And so, Sam thinks, they didn't mind the familiarity of each other all that much. 

So when he purchased a property close to his family home in the quiet, serene lands of willows and creeks, Bucky came along. 

At first, it was to help him move. Legit. No questions. And then he kept showing up every day after Sam was settled with a case of beer and a bag of chips to help him paint and renovate. Still legit. A little more obvious, but still legit. 

They redid the hardwood, made it smooth and sleek, they painted the kitchen something called Robin Egg Blue and hung thin white curtains in the lounge so he could still bake in the midday sun when they're drawn. They laid grey marble over the plywood countertops and built a breakfast island, a fireplace, and a pizza oven. 

Then one night, it had gotten late, and they ended up watching game shows on t.v in their paint-stained work clothes and laughing at each other's dumb answers. Sam cooked for them and set the table, and poured wine. And nothing about that was weird or uncomfortable or anything like that. 

And well, Bucky couldn't exactly drive back to his own apartment after two bottles of red wine, so Sam gave him the spare room. The next night Bucky grilled fresh fish Sam's brother sent over, and they bickered about the Giants and the Saints, and they had too much wine again, so Bucky didn't drive that night either.

Only this time, instead of heading to bed, Bucky dusted off the vintage record player and carefully placed a vinyl on, and soon the house was filled with The Supremes' voices. Naturally, after the amount of wine they consumed, dancing ensued, and Bucky had Sam spinning all over the new hardwoods in his socks. 

He remembers Bucky's hand in his, his grip so tight when he twirled Sam outward, the smile on his face and the way it made his eyes narrow and made Sam's stomach all tight and knotty. 

That was the night. 

They took turns in the shower later, still talking—Bucky under the sprays and Sam getting dressed in the room—about last night's game and Michelle Obama, and how bananas ain't the same as it was before the great depression. 

And it occurred to Sam then that these moments between them are like snaps of a marriage between two old souls. It occurred to Sam when Bucky stepped out of the bathroom dripping wet and steaming still, that he wanted this deeply and without a doubt. 

He wanted _Bucky_ , like this- naked in his bedroom and his kitchen and living room and on his front porch in the mornings. In his house. Close to him. Always. 

A funny thing happened to Bucky's face then, as Sam's eyes traveled his body. He put the towel down and took a step forward. 

Then, without a word, they both surged forward and kissed each other. 

That was it, really. At some point, with Bucky's mouth around his dick, Sam told him to sell his apartment in the city and move in, and Bucky's hum vibrated right down to his balls while Baby Love played downstairs. 

And now they're in it while they help put the world back together. And this thing between them is deep; it has rooted itself within Sam in a way he's yet to understand. It has flourished namelessly and passionately and bright.

If Sam thinks about it too hard, his brain might implode; it's easier to let it be, to let every day happen around them while they happen to each other. Sometimes it's more than Sam can stand to be so consumed and overwhelmed with emotion for someone. 

"My ma said if you make a face like that and the wind blows, it'll stay that way."

Sam swivels around on the porch to see Bucky sleep-ruffled and puffy-faced in the doorway, wearing nothing but his navy, untied robe and lighting a cigarette. 

"When the bell rings." Sam corrects and gets his phone out to take a picture of him. For future use. 

Bucky squints and comes to stand beside him, "The what now?"

"The thing your ma said. It's not the wind. It's the bell. Why are you still naked?" Sam leans in for a kiss and tucks himself close to Bucky's side, circling an arm around his bare waist.

Buck takes a long draw of smoke and exhales. He lifts his arm, so Sam is winged in. "Thought I'd get lucky down here but—" he then looks down at Sam already suited up and ready for work and makes a face. 

"Jesus Christ, Buchanan." Sam pulls away from the warmth of Bucky's body and gets his shield off the hook by the door. "Let a man rest, huh? Twice wasn't enough at three goddamn a.m? I am just a man."

Bucky snorts out a laugh as Sam sprints toward the little carport where their bikes are parked. "A delicious man. See you at work!" 

"At work! Don't be late."

He hears Bucky's flat and airy, "Yes, Captain!" as he drives off. 

* * *

At headquarters, no one knows about them. In fact, not many people do. Sam's family and Steve, to be specific.

It's a beautiful secret they keep; it's something only the two of them revel in. And before they even started this thing, they agreed it wasn't something anyone needed to know. 

Here they're just Sam and Bucky; they're colleagues who are roommates and kind of get along. It's been fun keeping it up. There's a delicious thrill in hiding it, as well as a particular, terrifying fear they both share. 

"Man," Sam says, managing to sound thoroughly annoyed, "Why do I keep getting teamed with this guy?" 

Bucky's sitting across the boardroom table from Sam, busy on his phone. He has that dark, brooding, murderous scowl on his face that intimidates everyone except Sam. Sam's kind of getting hard looking at him. He fantasizes about laying himself out on the table for the Winter Soldier, maybe even bending him over and going at it. 

"You're Cap and Bucky. It's a thing. We like to feed the nostalgia," Hill says. 

"Also, you work like a _unit."_ Sharon chimes in, "Shield's rescue rate's gone up by 20% since you guys teamed up. She's already punching coordinates into their GPS for the mission.

"Well, I guess." Sam rolls his eyes and starts going through the briefing file. Then he says to Bucky, "Oh hey, we gotta drive there in a sedan. You think you can manage not ripping the steering wheel outta it?"

"—rip something else off," Bucky mumbles. But under the table, Sam's phone vibrates; it's a message from Bucky. **_Like your clothes off your body and eat you out on this table._ **

Sam bites back a laugh, but there's an exciting spark dancing up his spine. He texts back, **_And what about them?_ **

**_Fuck it, let 'em watch_ **

**_Nasty._ **

Sam looks up and sees the tiniest smile trying to break through Bucky's bullshit façade.

"Well, alright, boys. Off you go. Bring him in _alive."_ Maria looks at them, her one eyebrow up as if they'd do anything but follow orders. 

Bucky gets up then, "The last guy _was_ alive."

Sharon's face is properly deadpan. She was responsible for briefing and engaging the last mission, and it really didn't go her way. 

"He is in a _coma,"_ she says.

"He's a nazi," Sam says.

And everyone gives a concurring nod-shrug before vacating the room.

* * *

This specific cartel they're looking for is real good at hiding, so they wait them out. 

It's pretty boring, and the sun is blistering hot on their backs, and the traffic blares down below. 

"So. Two vultures were in the desert eating a dead clown," Sam says. On the opposite rooftop, he sees Bucky shaking his head. "The first vulture asks the second vulture: 'Does this taste funny to you?'"

Sharon snorts out loud and slaps her hand over her mouth, so she doesn't give away her position. Daisy smiles and purses her lips where she's perched on the ledge beside Sam.

"Get it? Because the clown—"

"Yes, baby. Yeah, we got it," Bucky says, quietly fond and a little exasperated.

Sam doesn't register the slipped endearment straight away; they've been joking around all day, so his guard's not exactly up. 

But then Daisy says, "Baby?? Did he say _baby?"_

"Who said baby? To who??" Sharon looks over from the second-story window.

Bucky has an instant look of terror on his face, almost pale, "No one said baby."

"Bucky! To Captain America!" Daisy looks at Sam with this utterly incredulous expression. 

Sam shakes his head, "Y'all must be on something. No one said baby. Now shut up and get back to work." 

Sam turns to glare at Daisy. She's just looking at him with her eyebrows high and a look that says she's not buying his bullshit at all. 

"No one said baby!" he hisses at her, feels the heat curl up his neck. 

"Sure, Cap." she straightens up, taps her comms, and starts up a tremor between her fingers, "I'm checking the west perimeter for activity." and then she drops off the side of the building. 

Sam switches his comms to mute and tunes into Bucky's channel. 

"Jesus Barnes. Drop the line, then press one. If you press one first, then drop the line, the whole neighborhood's gonna know our dirty laundry."

"I'd dirty some laundry with you anytime," Bucky says, sweet and sticky like syrup. This idiot.

"Lemme come over to your roof, show those pigeons a thing or two," Sam says, and far in the distance, he can see Bucky laugh.

"You're awful. You know that?—Oh!!" Bucky flips the comms back on "—perp at ten o'clock!!" 

He sees Bucky launch off the roof, scaling down the brick face to the street. Sam spreads his wings and follows.

And Sharon, as she's sprinting down the stairs, says, "Did baby say 10 o'clock?" which makes Daisy cackle out loud as she pins the perp to a wall with her weird hand vibrations.

"Cap is baby, remember," she says just as the suspect's friends arrive and a gunfight breaks out.

Sharon shoots someone in the kneecap and elbows another dude in the nose.

"Oh, right! Hey, Cap, what'd you call Bucky?" 

Sam rolls his eyes, and lucky for him, he's too far up in the sky for them to see the faltering guilty look on his face. 

"I call him a pain in my ass."

The other two laugh in a way that doesn't sound like they're too suspicious. Maybe they'll think Bucky really just slipped up, that there's no deeper meaning behind it. Like how you'd sometimes fuck up and call your teacher 'mom' when you were a kid. Maybe they'll assume they heard it wrong and never think about it again. 

Still, Sam's heart pounds with how close that was.

* * *

Sam hangs around in an empty boardroom while Bucky gives mission debrief upstairs, figuring he might as well wait for Bucky to finish up and meet him on the way down for lunch. 

Only, his boredom combined with thoughts of Buck... it's a fatal, disastrous mix. He ends up nursing a semi while scrolling through his camera roll. There's that one picture he took of Bucky standing on the front porch smoking in only a robe. And gah…

Sam squeezes his legs together and decides _fuck it._

"Redwing, deactivate cameras in this boardroom."

The little A.I beeps, and soon the red flickering lights in the corners die out.

Sam checks that the glass is frosted, then cups his hand over the bulge in his pants, aims the phone at it, and sends it to Buck. 

The reply is almost instant.

**_SAM..._ **

Sam laughs, bites his lip, and after another glance around the room, in which he's still alone, he pulls the zipper down so the little wet spot on his grey boxers and straining dick show. He takes another photo and sends it.

**_Oh my gopskdkd_ **

**_*god_ **

He replies: **_I'm bored. What you doing?_ **

**_Right now??_ **

**_Trying to hide my boner under the table and keep eye contact with Hill._ **

**_What are YOU doing?!?!_ **

Sam decides to show him. He frees his dick, grips it around the base, and then pushes it down a little to get a good angle. But the light's all wrong, so he turns to the window, kicks the blinds open a notch, and gets a perfect streak of midday rays bathing his skin in golden light. He sends it with an angel emoji. 

Bucky sends **_Ooooof_ **

**_Now that's a dick honey_ **

Sam laughs, **_Oooof? what are you? a millennial?_ **

**_Look at this one_ **

The next one he sends there's a sticky rope of precome suspended between his finger and dick's tip, glinting in the sun like a string of pearls.

**_Jesus Sam. moaned out loud what the fuck holy shit god i want that_ **

**_Now._ **

**_All day_ **

**_Fuck_ **

**_More?_ **

Sam laughs, chest warm with delight, and of course, he obliges. He starts jerking himself with slow and languid rolls of his fist, once twice, then squeezes around the tip while taking a video. 

The typing dots seem like they're speeding, and his phone vibrates a second later.

**_Wehere_ **

**_Are tou_ **

This time Sam cackles out loud in the empty boardroom. Bucky sends a frantic string of question marks as Sam starts typing. 

**_East boardroom, 5th floor._ **

No reply comes, but the anticipation buzzes through him like liquid electricity, and when the door handle cracks down, there's only a brief flash of panic before he sees Bucky's face. 

Sam gets up and rushes over, and in the same breath, Bucky starts undoing his belt and fly and meets Sam halfway. 

"Anyone see you?" 

"Nope" 

Their lips meet hard and rushed, all tongues and nipping teeth and warm mouths sliding together. Bucky pushes his pants down and guides Sam back toward the table where he bends over. 

Sam moves to lock the door, but Bucky grabs his arm, "Don't." He grins like the actual devil, sharp and dirty and somehow so convincing that Sam doesn't think twice about it. 

He slides himself in behind Bucky and dips two fingers into his ass. He's still loose from the night before, or he played around without Sam, but he's good to go, so Sam leans down, licks, and gets him nice and wet. 

Bucky's metal hand scampers around for purchase the moment Sam's mouth makes contact, and then he gasps out a moan at the absence when Sam leans up again, but that moan turns into a breathless whine when Sam finally slides inside up to his base. 

They breathe hard and rapid, both of them, high and ready and aching for it, on the verge of getting caught. And so the only option is fucking faster than anyone on the way to this boardroom. 

Sam starts hitting home, not hard but quick, smooth and deep, his hands digging into the meaty parts of Bucky's hips. He sees Bucky reach down to jerk off and knows it won't be much longer now. 

So he watches. He watches Buck's hand move, his cheek pressed against the polished wood, his mouth slack and wet, his eyes fluttering, rolling, a quiet "Yes" escaping his lips. 

And he feels. He feels the tight heat of Bucky's body swallowing him up, dragging him in and out and closer to the edge. He feels the clenching, helplessly awed ache in his chest. And he thinks _I love him. I love him so fucking much._

At that, he makes a strangled sound and comes, hard and dizzying, shaking, pushing and pushing 'till the last drop and finally watches Bucky come off too in much the same euphoric shuddering. 

"Fuck sakes." Sam collapses on Bucky's back, easing his cock out. 

Bucky's still catching his breath, his cheeks now a pale pink. "You can say that again." He gets up, forcing them both to stand. 

And, once they're both tucked back in their pants, Bucky brings himself closer to Sam and swings an arm around his neck, then kisses him. 

"You kill me, Wilson." He says a moment later. "You fuckin' kill me."

Sam nuzzles his nose against Bucky's, breathes him in, and says in a slow sigh, "You know what kills me?" 

And Barnes says, "Hm?" with his eyes shut and a cute little grin on his face. 

"The fact that it's three p.m and I haven't even had lunch."

"Aaaaand the moment's gone." 

Bucky slaps Sam's ass, pecks his lips once more, "C'mon, I'll buy you a fucking T-bone, babydoll." 

And yeah. Sam loves him stupid much. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early update because i might be busy this weekend.  
> enjoy the next installment of smut, domesticity, missions, repeat.

Bucky shuffles into the kitchen, yawns, and digs sleep from the corner of his eye. He gets some coffee boiling and pours two cups. The washing machine's whirring quietly in the back room, so he heads over and finds Sam packing the detergent away, then kicking the powdery mess he made on the floor under the shelf. 

Bucky clears his throat.

Sam swivels to face Bucky with a sleepy, coy grin at being caught out. "The fuckin' broom's all the way over there," he says, rubbing his hand over his head, "Bullshit set up." 

He's standing there in only a pair of black Armani boxers and his dog tags, the metal glints in the sunny morning rays when he tugs at the brief's band around his hips.

Bucky stares at him, coffee long forgotten. 

"I've been thinking of building a supply cupboard or something, for the brooms and shit. Chicken coop style; it'll fit with the—" he motions around the room, "aesthetic or whatever, you know?" 

Bucky stops staring at him for a moment and blinks, "A chicken coop??" 

Sam nods, turns, then frames the wall with his fingers, "Right here. Perfect gap for it, see, and—" 

Bucky slides the cups onto the table outside the door and walks over to Sam, reaches around and slips his hand into Sam's boxers, squeezing, fondling, leaning down to mouth at his shoulder.

Whatever Sam grumbles ain't English, but he closes his eyes and sighs, tipping his head back as Bucky's hand works him to hardness. That doesn't take long at all, and soon he's stiff in Bucky's palm and panting. 

Bucky makes quick work of the Armani boxers and then his own pajama bottoms and leans in to kiss Sam. He walks them a few steps back and then lifts Sam onto the washing machine. He grins when he feels a surprised gasp against his cheek. 

Bucky presses Sam's knees open and slots himself in between, dragging his face down for another kiss, which, needless to say, has now turned sloppy and hungry. Bucky pulls back and dives down to his gym bag, where he's got a tube of lube stuffed in the side zipper. 

"Well, that's convenient," Sam grins, his legs spread lewdly, balls tight and dick stiff and bopping while he waits for Bucky.

Bucky slicks up his dick, "Yeah well, gotta be prepared—" he squirts some out and reaches down to rub over Sam's hole, "—when you got Captain America after your ass 24/7." then he's yanking Sam forward and guiding his dick inside.

"Ah Fuck, Barnes," Sam hisses, positioning himself just right— so that he's kind of leaning back on the one hand, the other hooked around Bucky's neck, and then he let's Bucky bottom out. 

Once he starts to move, Sam's mouth goes slack; he moans, drops his head back. He feels the faint vibration of the washing machine thrum through their bodies. It makes Sam hop a little, which would be funny if it weren't so hot. 

"A+ idea, baby," Sam stutters out in a gasp, and Bucky feels him clench.

He laughs, getting hold of Sam's middle to rev up his thrusts a little until he gets it just right. Fast and frantic, getting sweaty and out of breath, their skin sticky, their lips hungrily asking for kisses. Bucky fucks him hard and fast, and when he feels release building, he rests his forehead against Sam's so they're close as can get and says, "Come on, together." 

So Sam squeezes his eyes shut, kisses Bucky, and breaks away with a soft, high pitched grunt when he comes without a hand on his dick. Bucky looks down and sees him jizzing all over their naked skin, drives harder into the tightness, and follows suit.

They stutter out a few mumbled words, swallowing and kissing and breathing each other in, clinging tight, and then Bucky lifts Sam off the washing machine and drags him down to the floor where he kisses him again. 

Bucky rolls on top of him, nuzzling his dick in the fold of Sam's groin, still hard. He kisses Sam's neck, then his jaw, then his mouth as he brings himself off again, against the slick mess he made the first time, and it doesn't take long at all.

When he rolls off, they just lie there on the hardwood floor, smiling at the ceiling. Bucky reaches over and pinches Sam's cheek. "Good stuff, Captain. Good stuff." 

Sam rolls his head sideways, smiling, and Bucky can't help but return it. Sam is a beautiful, beautiful man.

Eventually, after cleaning up and dragging themselves off the floor, they make fresh coffee, and Bucky cooks up a stuffed omelet for breakfast. Instead of sitting at opposite ends of the table, they sit close together, and Sam hooks his knee over Bucky's thigh. And occasionally, Bucky will smile at him in the soft morning glow and reach up to tickle along the shell of Sam's ear. 

These are the kinds of days he lives for- the quiet peacefulness of it all. 

Once they're done eating, Bucky pours himself another cup of coffee, and Sam goes out to get the morning paper from the driveway.

There's a photo of him in the paper again: 'The Winter Soldier Next Door.' His hair is still long there, hanging in his eyes; it was taken on the causeway when he beat the shit out of everyone he loves now. Years ago, but people don't quit. 

Sam doesn't bother reading the article, but he puts the paper down beside Bucky, where he's enjoying his second coffee in a spot of sunlight.

"That fuckin' hair, though. Looked better when we found you in Bucharest. Longer. Evened out," Sam says and turns to pour himself more coffee too, "There you looked like a squirrel."

Bucky nudges the paper away with his finger, doesn't bother to read it either. By now, he knows all they do is make shit up about what he's doing with his life now. The government's ploy to make him seem less threatening or something, he guesses. Instead, he takes a sip of coffee, "Jesus thanks, loverboy." and Sam snort-chuckles.

A little while later, he gets up and brings his mug to the sink where Sam's washing up. His hand drags lightly along Sam's lower back as he passes. 

"Hey, squirrel boy." Sam winks at him.

"Fine, fair enough." he says, deciding to share the story, "That was about a year after Hydra's delta team got drunk at a safehouse and gave me a haircut with nail trimmers." He stuffs a piece of bagel in his mouth and laughs sort of fondly, motioning to his forehead, "Gave me some nice bangs."

It was ridiculous, and he looked like a fool, but it's some of the least awful memories of his time as the Winter Soldier.

"Christ, and here we all thought you got tortured." Sam leans back against the sink and folds his arms. 

"Oh, yeah, no." Bucky waves airily then comes over to plaster himself against Sam, nodding, "Got real familiar with a stun baton right after." 

"Aaaand, there it is!" Sam pulls him closer and hugs him. But Bucky's not too upset by the memory; Sam Wilson is far too distracting. He starts nuzzling Sam's neck and collarbone, his hands swiftly traveling south. 

"We do  _ not _ have time for this," Sam sighs even as his body goes lax against Bucky's, warm and attentive and wanting.

Bucky concedes but makes his disdain clear with a loud groan. He bites down on Sam's clavicle, "Fine. But tonight."

"Yeah. Alright, big guy," Sam says, "Tonight."

* * *

Admin days are the goddamn worst. 

But new policy states they have to take responsibility for their missions, everything has to be accurately recorded, and many other things that bore Bucky half to death.

Today is his and Sam's turn. He's seen Parker and Maximoff around, Sharon's with Sam in the gym, and Daisy is hunched over her own papers beside him.

They make small talk about her last mission and suit upgrades, and she shares a packet of caramel popcorn with Bucky while they work.

"So…" she says, typing out a report of sorts, "You seeing anyone?" 

Bucky swallows wrong the way he startles and has to chug half a bottle of water to dislodge the popcorn. Daisy's looking at him flatly, eyebrow raised. 

"Take that as a yes then." 

"Just caught me off guard." Bucky glares at her, "Why do you ask anyway?" he pretends to type furiously on his laptop, but all it actually says on the screen is  **_hsdagksaui wiucbnksaucbasiuhk jscsalfyipeufhjkich_ ** over and over again. 

"People say 'why do you ask' when they're hiding something," she tells him and takes a long sip of water without breaking eye contact. Like a sociopath.

He rolls his eyes and continues 'working,' but it's still just  **_klaskjfgwuehfkjshipuch sauhcipuahscjnasbilcugh._ ** He finally stops panic-typing shit and decides to send Sam an actual message: 

**_Save me. Now. Hurry._ **

**_Sam_ **

**_Sam_ **

"Fine, I'm asking because I know someone. She's real nice, just got out of something long-term, so she's not looking for anything serious. Thought you could show her a good time." Daisy winks at him, wiggling her shoulders, "Throw some of that forties charm on her or something, you know?" 

**_Sam please_ **

**_Hello???_ **

Fifteen more minutes of Daisy interrogating him passes. She's talking about her friend Angie or Annie or something, and Bucky sweats for a multitude of reasons. 

Neither he nor Sam are ready to come out and make their relationship public. There's no telling what the press will do with it, what their teammates will think, the public repercussions...

The thought of Sam getting all that backlash, all that hate, just eats him up; he can't stand to think about it. The guy he loves going through it so publicly. 

But he has to say something before he ends up on a date with a woman for the first time in 80 years.

"Uh—" he starts, but a voice from the office doorway shuts him up. Like hot sugar, all crackly and sweet and beautiful; he knows exactly what it sounds like moaning filthy things in his ear or singing along to songs from the seventies.

"Yo, lazy soldier. They're looking for you down at the gym. Bruce's got some sweet nunchucks you gotta try." Sam says. He salutes Daisy, and she gives him a happy wave.

Bucky can't love Sam any more than he does right this moment. 

Although- Sam looks at Bucky's screen and frowns, then looks at him like he's a complete idiot. But as Bucky leaves the room, Sam smirks, discreetly touching Bucky's hand as he passes.

"See you later, Miss Johnson," Sam says.

"Sure thing, Cap. Hey, let me know about Amilé, Barnes! She's nice." 

Bucky groans as he walks away, and Sam cackles like a mad man behind him.

The intention was entirely for the two of them to engage in a little sparring session. Secretly get their hands on each other during working hours and burn off some excess energy and frustration in the process.

It usually works quite well. Sam throws hits as good as he gets them. They're somehow a perfect match and attract quite the crowd when they spar. 

But today, the gym's empty—Bruce and the nunchucks was obviously a fat lie— and actually keeping their hands to themselves turns out to be the most challenging mission yet. 

Sam's breathlessly dancing around Bucky. His lips curled in a sexy smirk, his brown eyes glinting so deliciously, and that heavy gaze raking down Bucky's form far too often. 

Bucky sniffs and wipes sweat off his lip, tries to get back in the game, brings his focus back, but Sam jabs at him. And instead of dodging, Bucky grabs him closer. 

"Hmm..." he feels the damp warmth of Sam's shirt against his hand; he smells like sweat and expensive aftershave. Bucky wants to  _ taste. _

Sam whispers, "Baby… come on," but he doesn't stop Bucky's hands from dragging up underneath his vest. In fact, he shivers, and a faint sound escapes his throat. 

"Wanna kiss you…" Bucky whispers back; he's starting to sway just a little now, like a drunk man, eyes closed. He feels Sam fattening up in his workout tights. "Wanna take you apart,"

"Jesus." Sam's fingers tighten around Bucky's right bicep. "Buck…" 

Just then, the gym doors swing inward as someone walks through. Their eyes fly open, and Sam says, "Flip me!" 

So Bucky does. He grabs Sam by the waist, rending the delicious heat between them apart, and flips Sam down on the mat. He can only hope it looks like they were actually sparring. 

"You okay?" he whispers, hovering over Sam as Hill enters and heads to the weights behind them.

Sam nods, all amused with wide-blown eyes, he taps the mat three times like he's giving up, and Bucky lets him go. 

"Weak form, Wilson," Bucky says, acting broody again. He sees Maria roll her eyes, and he barely contains a laugh. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry my form bugs you this much!" Sam calls after him, but he's heading for the showers and acting like he doesn't hear when in fact, he wants to devour Sam Wilson's form from top to bottom.

* * *

As soon as they step into the privacy of their home, Bucky pushes Sam up against a wall. He kisses, no- he ravages Sam's neck, his hands all over like greedy paws, dragging sinful sounds from Sam's mouth. 

He palms over Sam's taught stomach, feeling every sinew and cut and curve. He leans down and lets his mouth follow his fingertips, kissing every inch of skin on the way down.

"I lied," Bucky says, circling Sam's nipple with his tongue.

Sam answers with his head tipped back, "hmmg?"

"Your form is goddamn perfect." He makes his point by smoothing both hands along Sam's stomach and up to his pecs, cupping them, squeezing, like he's some dame with C-cups.

Dazed and rock hard in his sweats, Sam says, "Come on. Not here."

Bucky follows him up the stairs, but they don't quite make it to the bedroom. Bucky pulls him down, knees to the ground, yanking the sweats down to get his hands on Sam's naked skin, and when he does, he digs his fingers in. 

"Buck…" Sam groan-whispers, a forgotten objection, now pushing back, letting Bucky crawl all over him. He even braces himself on the step and spreads his legs.

"Eager, huh," Bucky grins into Sam's ear.

"Buchanan, you asshole—" 

And before he says anything else, Bucky ducks his head down and licks between Sam's ass cheeks. He hears a few hapless mumbles, involuntary twists of Sam's hips, and then a soft sigh, his body melting and letting it be. 

Bucky makes it filthy, wet, slow, pressing down on Sam's back, pressing his fingers in, slipping them out, listening to his sounds, and once Sam's close, Bucky slides two fingers into him and licks again. Sam shoves his hands in under himself and jerks off, moaning, and comes shivering and clenching. 

Bucky leans up and finds Sam's mouth to kiss him while he positions himself on top of Sam. He slaps the side of Sam's thigh, "Tighten up, honey." and Sam complies, weak and panting, pressing his legs together so Bucky can slide his dick into the space between. 

"Jesus, fuck." Bucky grips Sam's hips, and slots himself between Sam's thighs, then begins to rock back and forth.

"Put it in me," Sam says hoarse and desperate.

"Lube's too far." Bucky leans down and nips at his ear, speeding up, getting frantic. He feels his dick drag along the coarse underside of Sam's balls, his ass pressing against Bucky's hips, his breath getting ragged. He looks like this feels just as good for him. 

Finally, Bucky hugs Sam close, hooking his arms around Sam's chest, face buried in his neck, and shoots off between his thighs. 

No one but Sam will ever know him like this— the quiet, desperate noises he makes, the way his body twitches for it—and perhaps that's what does it for him, that he gets to unfold himself and be completely vulnerable here. 

They stay there in the dark, sprawled on the goddamn stairs for a few moments. Bucky holds himself up just enough to keep the weight off Sam but kisses down his neck and his spine. Sam arches for him, curves for Bucky's mouth.

Sam's hand is still stuck under himself, holding his cock, and he says, "This is a goddamn mess." but he doesn't move or try to get away from the wet kisses Bucky leaves down his back and shoulder blades and neck. 

"We're a mess," Bucky murmurs in reply, biting the meaty bulge of Sam's shoulder.

Sam's laugh is soft, but his chest shakes, "Yeah. Yeah, fuck we are." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unnecessary daddy jokes ahead.

Sam's work alert goes off at some ungodly hour. He'd been so fast asleep, the shiny green digits on his alarm clock are still blurry. 

"Aw Jesus, no," Bucky groans as Sam's pulling himself away from their warm, tangled embrace to shut the horrible sound up, "Is it work?"

Sam rubs his face, double checks, "Yep." 

"Fuck. Really?" Bucky gets up too. It must be the serum or some shit, but he's always able to get going faster than Sam. He's already pulling boxers and a vest on, and heading to the kitchen. 

"Yeah, babe," Sam says, his voice still groggy and thick. He wrestles with he idea of even setting foot out of this body-warm bed and strapping himself full of cold Kevlar.

Eventually, he does get himself up, unlocks their suit and weaponry closet, and lays their uniforms out on the bed. Bucky rummages around in the kitchen, and Sam smells the awakening aroma of toast and coffee coming down the hallway.

His phone rings then. When he answers, it's Hill.

"You up?" She sounds sleepier than him, if only by a fraction. He can hear buckles and belts and guns being loaded in the background as she gears up too.

"Up," he confirms just as Bucky comes back with two cups and a plate stacked with buttery toast. "What's the gig?" 

He puts her on speaker and begins stripping down, munching on a slice of toast at the same time.

"They got activity on the cartel, moving south tonight," she says, "Confirmed enhanced individuals on board. Gustavo and Kernick."

"What's our window?" Bucky asks as he straps the Kevlar to his chest.

"T minus twenty before take off. Gotta catch them before they cross the border. We don't want those weapons out of our hands."

"Alright," Sam says, and by the time he hangs up, they're both suited up, the toast is polished, and their coffee downed in a few greedy gulps. 

Sam goes out to their balcony and spreads his wings. The metal skinks into place in one easy, swift motion, glinting ominously in the moonlight. He turns to Bucky with a smirk.

"You wanna lift?"

"In those arms, hell yeah." 

"Don't make it weird, man." 

And as they fly off into the night, they laugh.

* * *

The mission turns dirty fast. 

These guys have Inhumans on the team, the worst being the enhanced twins. They're brutal and clearly just there to stall, so the rest can get the weapons over the boarder. One of them's got some kind of ability blocker or absorber, so Daisy can't even get in within the radius; she and Hill set out after the cargo heading for the border. 

Bucky is chasing after one and has gone dark, and Sam is panicked and sweaty because he can't spot him on Redwing's radar either.

"Someone get me eyes on Barnes."

"Got heat signatures down the west hallway, Cap, I'm on it," Sharon calls out.

Sam flies to the ground and sets after the big guy with the tattoos and small head. He's strong but stupid, and Sam gets in a few liberties before taking one right in the plexus. The guy runs off, and Sam's still gasping for air when he sees a flash of metal from about 22nd story of the office building across the road. 

"Gustavo's on the run, south heading east. I got Barnes!"

And then he doesn't have Barnes at all.

Kernick hauls him up in one horrifying motion and tosses the former Winter Soldier through the big glass office window like a rock.

An ice-cold terror rips through Sam, a nauseous twist in his gut as he sees Bucky fall. Tumbling through thin air with nothing to stop him, nothing to break the fall, like Sam's up there just to watch...

"I don't got Barnes!!"

"Sam!" Bucky calls out, loud enough for Sam to hear as he initiates the power thrusters and surges toward him.

"Hold on!" 

And he's falling and falling, and the rush of traffic below doesn't ease up at all. They're not slamming on breaks because they don't see the falling 260lb super soldier heading straight for an 18 wheeler's lane. 

Sam screams, flattening the wings behind him completely, and it makes him just sleek enough to close the distance quickly.

He collides with Bucky a second later and swoops him up in a heavy tug against gravity, feels the relief like a damn near physical thing in his throat.

"I got Gustavo," Sharon calls out, panicked and rushed, "You got Barnes?"

Bucky draws his gun, and as they pass the window he fell through, he puts two in Kernick's head.

"Yeah," Sam says, smirking down, taking them up high enough, so he can kiss Bucky in peace and out of sight, "I got him." 

* * *

In the street below, SWAT has started dispersing civilians, and the cleanup crew has arrived to sweep debris off the sidewalks and make the place somewhat livable again. 

The rest of the team is helping or reporting back to headquarters, and everyone assumes Sam and Bucky are doing the same, so no one's really looking for them.

Sam turns and looks at Bucky on the opposite end of the rooftop- his tack pants tight around his waist and his sweat-damp hair hanging in his eyes, his left arm thick and shiny and flexing around his massive gun. 

And Sam gets a terrible idea. He takes himself off the comms, stalks over to Bucky, disconnects his headpiece, and takes Bucky's hand. Bucky goes "Wha—" kinda dumbly and looks around. Sam turns his hand palm-up and drags it over the front of the Captain America suit where he's rock hard underneath. 

"Oh…" Bucky says, blinking multiple times as Sam sinks to his knees. "Oh!"

Sam unzips him and fumbles to get him open and out and then greedily swallows him in still half-soft; he breathes through his nose and takes Bucky way down then looks up at him, eyes watery. 

"Fuck me..." Bucky mutters in disbelief, then slides his hand to the back of Sam's head. Sam wants him to move, wants Bucky to use him, so he places his hand over Bucky's and shows him how. 

Bucky's now clubbed up and only barely holding on, so Sam swallows and gags as an incentive. There's a low curse, and then Bucky's fucking his mouth, holding Sam still, quick and relentless. He's got a look on his face, like concentration but dripping with want, filthy almost, needful. 

And then he groans and lets go, he fucks and grinds and swivels his hips around, using Sam's mouth just like he wants, and god, it feels good, so good that Sam starts rubbing himself up through the suit. 

He manages to get his dick out in a trembling haze and then jerks off, tight and fast, whining around Bucky's cock. 

Bucky looks down, sees him, and curses some obscene 1940's bullshit and doubles his efforts- spit's dribbling down Sam's chin, and tears run down his cheeks, and maybe that's what drives him crazy.

"Swallow," Buck says after a few more thrusts because he knows Sam likes that sometimes. He only acts like he doesn't like being told what to do- it's just gotta be the right person telling him at just the right moment- preferably with a dick all the way down his throat or up his ass.

Sam moans, "Hhhmg." and nods, and Bucky holds his head on both sides and then comes down his throat. 

Sam returns the favor by shooting jizz all over Bucky's boots as he brings himself over the edge too. 

"That," Bucky says, pointing at Sam's jizz on his shoes, "was unnecessary. But you…" and he grabs Sam's collar and pulls him in, "You're sexy as hell, honey."

When they kiss, Bucky makes a deep, appreciative sound as if he likes tasting himself on Sam's tongue. 

"No one says sexy anymore, old man," Sam tells him, his eyes still shut, smiling a little dumbly. 

They get going to join the rest of the team, and Bucky says, "That's because they ain't got a guy like you. Poor assholes." 

And Sam kisses him again as he flies them off the roof.

* * *

"Hill wanted to know why we didn't help with cleanup today." 

Bucky's standing by the record player—the old one Sam's mom left him—and he's flipping through some Vinyl records, wearing a vest and a pair of Sam's sweats. The porch light shines in through the window and makes a sort of halo around his hair. 

Sam's in the kitchen stirring spaghetti sauce, and he too is wearing a soft, old t-shirt and shorts, and if you look at them now, you wouldn't think they fucked up a city block earlier that day. There's something ethereally domestic about the two of them here, like this.

"Yeah? What'd you tell her?"

Bucky turns himself slightly, smirks over his shoulder at Sam, "That we had unfinished business to take care of." 

Sam winks at him, "Sure is unfinished business." 

Bucky grins but points at Sam and the pot of hot meatballs and sauce, "Not while you're cooking."

"Yeah, alright. Tomorrow's your turn, by the way." Sam wipes his hands and comes over to where Bucky's sorting through vinyl records, "Who's up tonight?" he slips his arms around Bucky's waist, peering over his shoulder. 

"Got Mr. Bridges, some Gary Clark Jr, Stonekeepers," He places the first vinyl down and arranges the needle. A soft crackle follows, and then the sweet sound of Beyond starts mellowing through their living room. 

Bucky turns to him fully now, takes his hand, and then they're swaying together slowly and tiredly on the hardwood floor. Sam tucks his face into the side of Bucky's neck, laces the fingers of their outstretched arms together, and Bucky kisses his forehead.

"Hmm, it's nice," Sam says.

"Yeah," Bucky sighs, tilting Sam's face up just so, and places a kiss too tender yet too wanting on Sam's lips. 

"Love you," Bucky whispers then, his eyes blink open to look at Sam.

Sam still remembers the first time he said it, how it took them both by surprise and how neither really realized it until that accidental slip. He remembers the laughter that followed, the sex that followed; he remembers every touch since the first time. 

"Me too," Sam tells him, watching the way Bucky's eyes flick over his face, his mouth curling up.

"You love you too?" Bucky says because he's still a pain in the ass. 

Sam snorts. He should have seen it coming. He says, "You're so goddamn lame, man." and leans up to kiss this fool again, harder this time, a little dirtier. 

After a few moments of kissing, the dancing is long forgotten. Bucky pulls away. He spins Sam around, smacks his ass, and Sam just knows he's watching it jiggle. 

"Get daddy some food, come on now," he says with a disgusting sultry look on his face. 

"Gross. You're gross _and_ lame. And old." Sam laughs, walking away just as another song starts up, "Come get your balls, daddy." 

And that makes Bucky cackle out so loud Sam thinks the entire neighborhood heard it. 

They have dinner on the oversized couch with the T.V blaring softly, feet propped on the coffee table. Now and again, Bucky will feed Sam strings of spaghetti, purposely messing on his chin, then leans in to lick it off. 

"Your balls are delicious, honey," Bucky mumbles through a mouth full. "Hmm." 

Sam kicks him, shoveling another bite into his mouth too, "I know." 

And later, when they've settled down, and some action movie's playing, Sam looks down to their clasped hands in his lap. 

"Hey," Sam says quietly.

Bucky looks at him, "Hm?" 

"You think we should tell them... about us, I mean?" he asks, even though the thought makes a strange hollow feeling engulf his stomach. 

"Do you _wanna_ tell them?" Bucky says, his tone is smooth and easy, and Sam feels better just looking at him. 

"Warming up to the idea. A lot of people following me are LGBTQ. I think maybe they won't… I don't know… I guess then it won't be such a big deal. I don't know, though." 

"Following you?" Bucky's eyes glint terribly, narrowing. He grins while taking another bite, "I forgot you're famous now."

"Two million, baby. Don't worry, I'll sign your arm for you." 

Bucky snorts, "Sign my ass, Cap." 

They're quiet for a while, listening to the music, sitting close together while they finish their food.

"I'm still..." Sam prompts after a while, taking a deep breath before he continues, "I don't know. Scared."

"Then we wait." Bucky taps a finger against Sam's nose and he smiles, "They ain't ready for us anyway."

And god, that's probably the truth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones a bit longer, lots of unnecessary mission nonsense just to get to that last part ^_^  
> enjoy!

It's always Bucky's dreams that get him. But of all the Big Bads they face almost daily, out of all the horrors he's lived through, it's this one specific nightmare that renders him cold and frozen and helpless in his own head. 

Sam's flying. Always so high, higher than he should. And Bucky calls to him from below; he tells him to slow down, to come back. He calls to him and cries out, "Icarus, the sun!" 

But Sam is larger than life itself; the sky can't hold him when he's free like this. He's so beautiful, soaring up high, _so beautiful_ that Bucky sees too late that his wings catch fire. 

Then Sam is a blazing light hurtling toward the ground. Bucky feels that fear explode in his chest, falling and falling and knowing it's the end. And Sam hits the ground like a nuke; everything—Bucky's whole world—shatters with the impact.

He hears himself scream, feels himself come upright, their cotton sheets gripped between his fingers. His throat's dry, eyes wet, "Sam!? Sam!!"

A warm hand wraps around his metal wrist, "Buck," Sam says, raspy and sleep riddled, "Baby, s'okay." He sits up, rubbing his eyes, switches on the bedside lamp.

"Jesus." Bucky swings his legs off the side and chugs the glass of water on his nightstand. His hands tremble, his heart hammers behind his ribs, neck clammy. "You…" 

"Always me, ain't it?" Sam says, and there's a smile in his voice as he starts pulling Bucky back down. 

Bucky goes easily, happily, and crowds up into the warmth of Sam's body. Sam leans back and pulls his shirt off, pressing their chests together, and kisses Bucky. His thumb rubs a soothing circle on Bucky's cheek.

"I'm here, see…" Sam whispers, and Bucky chases the sound with a kiss.

And soon, the twilight hour has worked its magic, and all Bucky wants is Sam's body, as close and intimately as he can get. Sam understands the wordless urgency in his movements, and he maneuvers them into a position that puts Bucky between his thighs.

Bucky only fumbles around a little, gets hold of lube and fingers Sam open, kisses him desperately impatient, halfway there already just from this, just from Sam gasping those little sounds into his ear. 

"I'm good, I'm good… come on," Sam urges him on.

Bucky lines himself up real quick, pushes in, and they both sigh and groan and surrender to the delirious pleasurable heat of their bodies. He starts to move, slow rocking motions, back and forth, an easy tight slide.

He tucks his face into Sam's neck, kissing sloppily wet, urgent, and says, "Don't ever leave me, honey." 

He angles his hips a little, and Sam moans like something hot and bright rips through him. So Bucky does it over and over. And he ought to be used to it by now, but it's like an awakening every time they touch. 

"I won't. I won't, it's you and me..." and Sam gasps, wrapping his legs around Bucky's waist, fingernails dragging down his back, deep and relentlessly like he's trying to anchor himself there forever. 

Bucky makes a desperate sound, holding Sam close, "You and me. Yeah?"

He sweeps his cool metal fingers up Sam's chest, toying with his nipple, and Sam arches off the bed, but Bucky keeps going, rocking into him. 

"Always," Sam says and kisses Bucky hard, almost bruising, then breaks away for air, "Always." He says again. "It's you and me, baby. You and me." 

Bucky nods like he's finally convinced, his eyes now a little wet, his hips grinding down and hitting Sam just right. 

Sam smiles against his lips. Bucky thinks this really is it. This is the man he's going to spend the rest of his life with. And the alternative is something too dire to even imagine. 

* * *

The thing about dreams is that they haunt you. Bucky guesses that's what makes them nightmares instead. 

He's been carrying around an awful feeling ever since the night before. He couldn't even drift off again, even with Sam breathing peacefully in his arms. The image of Sam tumbling to the ground on fire like that stays with him, and he damns his mind for it. 

They decided to have lunch with Sarah and Gideon on the docks on Saturday. 

Bucky's waiting in the kitchen doorway to take the plates from Sarah. The smell of lamb curry drifts along the summer breeze when she hands a dish over to him. 

"Hope it ain't my food putting that frown on your face, Barnes." She says, smiling, handing him the dish of rice to set down and leading the way to the table.

"Oh, god, no! No." he can't help his eyes from drifting to Sam down by the water- his pants are rolled up, and he's laughing with Gideon about something. "Sorry," he says. 

"Oh," Sarah says, "I know that look. What'd he do?" she casts her gaze down to the water too. 

And he can't exactly tell her his worst nightmare is her brother dying, and all he wants to do is keep Sam safe and bundled up from the world, so he shakes his head, rolls his eyes, makes it seem like nothing. 

Her look is awfully suspicious, though, but he gets away with no answer. She calls out to the guys to come up for dinner, and when they do, Sam comes to sit down beside him.

"Hey," he says, beaming like early morning rays on the lake.

Bucky leans in for a kiss, "Hey, dollface." 

"Aw hell, not at the table, Sam, come on," Gideon says, beckoning for the salt. 

"That's homophobic," Sam tells him, passing the salt anyway.

"Homophobic the rice over here please, Mr. Captain," says Sarah, her voice taunting and light as she winks at her brother, in turn handing Bucky the curry bowl.

And they joke like that through lunch. It helps keep Bucky's mind off everything. Helps him think of this new life they've built instead of those bad dreams, all the good Sam's doing, and how it outweighs the danger, he's putting himself through. 

It takes his mind off their grueling job for just a moment watching Sarah laugh, her skin all dewy and her eyes shiny and happy from having her brother here with them. Watching Gideon give Sam more shit than he's ever been able to himself takes his mind off the fact that they're expecting yet another call to chase down the last leg of the weapons cartel.

That's until Gideon says, "So. Y'all tell the Avengers you're dating yet? What'd they say?"

Sam blows his cheeks out like a hamster, slowly lets a breath out. He looks kind of funny and terrified. 

"We have not," Bucky says. "Avengers ain't really the problem."

Sam deflates, "It's one of those things that you gotta get the timing just right. It's gotta be the perfect climate for it. Right now, people are angry; they got extraterrestrial weapons floating about in their neighborhoods. Kids are getting their hands on alien tech, getting sick because of it. And we, we're just—" he takes a long, deep breath and scoops a fork full of food into his mouth instead. 

Bucky looks away from him and sighs, "We're messing up their streets, having gunfights in their buildings… Last thing they wanna hear is Cap's shakin' up with that old guy who used to be Hydra. It's just…" 

Sarah nods, "I get it, yeah. I just don't think it'll be the worst thing, you know?"

Gideon nods, "Some folks gonna lose their minds, though."

"That's exactly the part we're worried about."

Thankfully Sam's phone starts buzzing with Maria Hill's inevitable call before they need to give it any further thought because it fills Bucky with unimaginable anxiousness. However, the outsider perspectives and support is refreshing and assuring. 

"Trouble's calling," Sam says, waving the phone at Sarah. "Maybe we'll start thinking about it, after all this is over, huh. Let everyone know the light of my life is Cyborg Boy over here. Excuse me." and he smiles, squeezing Bucky's knee under the table before he gets up to answer.

Just for that comment, Bucky finishes off the last of the dumplings by himself.

* * *

It turns out Hill's call absolutely is trouble. 

It's midnight and they're in a transport van heading north, all of them dressed in covert black, even Sam's shield is tinted dark grey, Bucky's arm is matted to blend into the night, and Sharon's swapped her crisp white suit for a jet black one.

"So they never crossed the border," Hill says. She's strapping on her leather gloves, cuffing them with taser beams. "Turns out their entire operation's been just off the coast; the storage docks are crawling with them. They've got two massive cargo ships heading out tonight."

Daisy slides her shock absorbers on too and zips up her suit, "They're shipping globally. We got a nautical chart with at least 140 stops along the way." 

"And now we're in their territory," Sam says, taking the two guns Sharon hands him. Bucky checks that Sam holsters them under his arms, checks Sam's sides for the backups, checks his Kevlar straps. 

He leans sideways and checks Sam's wings too, the top of the pack where they fold out, the bottom thrusters, the little ring that extracts his parachute.

"Quit fussing," Sam grumbles.

Bucky glares at him but gives up his 'fussing' and instead gets himself strapped up too. Knife: right thigh, bigger knife: left thigh, Glock: lower back, grenade: belt, rifle: back sling then ankle knife, pocket knife, bigger grenade, flash grenade.

Sam looks at him, eyebrows high like he's trying not to laugh.

"What? You didn't say don't fuss with myself." 

Maria lays out a map of the docks over everyone's laps and shows them their positions, points of contact, and the easiest ways in and out.

"We're probably outnumbered," she says, "Most likely out-muscled. Gotta clean up before we seize the weapons. Be quiet and quick. Can't let them know we're here until the very last moment."

At once, they all secure the silencers on their weapons. 

Hill smiles, "Good. And one last thing—" 

But she doesn't finish. 

The next moment there's a metal clang underneath the van, and the entire thing shakes and Bucky only just manages to shout "hold on!!" before they're flying. 

He briefly remembers himself in another body, a different him, doing this exact same thing- firing off a disc grenade. He sees it happen from the outside, stepping out of the tumbling car's way, watching it hurtle through the air and crashing down on the opposite sidewalk. 

He throws his left arm over Sam's chest, grabs onto his seatbelt and his right arm over Daisy's, and then it's all a blur. The van tumbles in mid-air for far too long, the driver screams, the team's upside down, jerking violently and bracing themselves for impact. 

And the impact comes hard. They hit something, a barrier perhaps, Maria curses, the van meets the pavement seconds later and starts its inevitable skid toward a standstill. 

Inside everyone groans, breathing hard as they gather their wits. Bucky releases his straps, turns to Sam immediately. He's fine, just rattled and fumbling with his straps as well. Bucky helps to ease Sam down onto the roof—which is now the floor—and turns to Daisy to get her loose too.

"Everyone alright?" Sharon asks, grabbing hold of Bucky's shoulders to lower herself too. 

Maria drops from her seat next, "No. I'm pissed." she taps her earpiece, "Daniels, what's happening?" but the driver doesn't respond. They assume the worst, "Alright, we're blind. Barnes?"

Bucky closes his eyes, listens, "Six sets of footsteps approaching the driver's window. Heavily armed, American, communicating with another team further away." he opens his eyes, "We can take 'em."

"That will never get old," She says, cocking her gun, "Play dead?" 

Everyone moans about it but gets in position.

"Ug. Fine." Daisy groans and goes limp like a puppet too. Bucky lies in a way that points his pistol right at the door. Sam's got his underarm pistol aimed at the exact same spot.

"Three, two, one…" Bucky counts, and then the guys outside shoot the door open, yanks it off and observes the 'dead bodies' inside. 

They lower their weapons, and Bucky waits for them to call it in.

"Ground to Tower. This is Beta One. All trespassers eliminated…" he pauses and looks at the pile of bodies again. "Apparently."

"Tower to Ground. This is Alpa Zero. Good work. Bring it into the lot. We can ship the weapons with tonight's load."

And the minute he confirms and says "Over." Bucky shoots. 

Sam follows, then Sharon and Daisy and Maria and within seconds the group of men that approached them drops to the ground. 

"Let's move," Sam whispers, getting out of the totaled van and climbing over the bodies. 

They make their way through the base quietly, keeping to the shadows until they finally reach the shipping docs. This whole place looks like bad news, he wants to drag Sam back to the van and get the fuck out, but instead, he watches the fearless Captain take the lead and direct them to different entrances.

He sends Sharon off with Bucky, and Hill takes the tower. Bucky's head is in the game, but he can't shake this godawful feeling like he's about to fall off a train or beat Steve Rogers half to death. It's gross and sickening, and he wants nothing more than to leave it behind. 

His eyes want to follow Sam, track his every move, but he needs to have Sharon's back. 

They take out one sub-level at a time, and it seems too easy, too smooth, and he knows there's something hiding here. God damn his super senses because he's felt this before- inside every Hydra base, on every dark mission they ever sent him on. He knows the presence lurking around here is pure evil. 

And then the ship's speakers crack to life, and someone says, "Release the Asset." 

For a moment, Bucky's head spins. He feels a terrible urge to oblige, to step to command. Because that used to be _him._ He used to be the evil presence lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce.

"The what?" Daisy says over the comms. He hears it in her voice too, that too-high too-controlled tremor. 

Sam's voice comes in, then, "Everyone stay sharp." Bucky hears his slow breathing, and if he listens closely, he can hear the rapid thump of Sam's heart. "It's too quiet 'round here." 

"Tower secured, Cap," Maria says.

"Get down here, Hill. I got a bad feeling." Bucky replies.

They're sneaking down a few more hallways, taking down agents, reloading, and changing directions when they feel a vibration pass through the ship. The walls quake and shudder, making the whole thing creak at its center. 

"Now I got a bad feeling too," Sam says.

"Aw, Bucky, you gave Baby a bad feeling." Daisy chimes with a smile in her voice, trying to lighten the mood, no doubt. 

Bucky groans, "One time!" 

One minute they're all chuckling and ribbing Bucky for his slip up, and the next, Sam's shouting in his ear to get the fuck out. 

"Sam??" 

"He's huge!" 

"Enhanced!" Daisy shouts back, shaky like she's running.

"Sam?!?" Bucky calls again. He's following Sharon toward the back end of the ship, sprinting too now, when he notices the walls moving like hot metal. In fact, it's not _like_ hot metal; it _is_ hot metal. The ship's… melting?

Maria meets Sharon and Bucky a few levels down, starts running with them. "Cap! Report! What are we looking at?" 

Sam comes in, breathless, shots going off, "Some kinda fuckin' metal bender!! About eight feet, whatever he—son of a bitch!!!" Sam grunts, more shots resound, Daisy screams something at him, "Whatever he touches melts! The metal! Gotta get out to open ground, away from the ship!" 

"We're about six meters from the exit, Cap," Maria reports and leads them down another narrow little path toward a hatch. She swings it open for them to pass through. It leads straight to the deck. 

"I see you! Come on!" 

Bucky's heart does a relieved flip at the sight of Sam. He drops the line, _then_ presses one on the comms, so no one hears him call Sam all kinds of sweet names again. 

"Hey, dollface." He says, bordering on breathless too, "You okay?" 

"Got a melted piece of metal to the gut, but yeah," Sam says.

Bucky's running toward Sam and Daisy, "Alright, where's this fucker?" 

"Six o'clock!" Sam calls out, and when Bucky turns, the Asset is on their heels. He's too big to be fast, but he makes up for it by lugging melted cars at them.

Daisy makes vibration blast that sets him back a few seconds, enough for the team to reload and get a few shots in.

"Doesn't seem to be bulletproof," Sharon says, aiming for his knees. 

"But he's not going down easy!" Daisy shoots another tremor at him at the same time Bucky makes use of his rifle.

They're gaining the upper hand, and that'd be great if they weren't heading straight for a crowd of teenagers partying on the nearby beachfront. 

"Oh shit!" 

"Lead him east!" 

"I got it!" Sam shouts back and then spreads his wings and takes flight. 

And that, too, would be fantastic if this metal-melting asshole didn't get a deeply satisfied grin on his face at the sight of Sam. Bucky sees it happen like it's a slow-motion shot in a film.

Sam flies over Metal Boy's head, does a low sweep to lure him away from the beach, reaches for his underarm guns, and gets close enough for a headshot. Which he takes beautifully and accurately, and the guy should go down, but he doesn't.

Instead, he reaches up with one long, abnormally large arm and grabs Sam by the tip of his wing. 

Bucky watches as the metal feathers slowly start disintegrating. He sees the absolute horror on Sam's face as his wings are rendered useless, and the guns begin to melt in his hands too. 

"No!" Bucky screams and runs toward them, shooting, then throwing his knives when the bullets run out. "Let him go!" 

"Okay," Metal Boy croaks, sneering at Bucky as he lifts Sam higher, holding him now only by the remnants of his melting wing pack. 

And then he tosses Sam through the air, with no apparent effort, toward the beach full of kids. 

Bucky's seen this before too. This is the dream where Sam's falling, and he's on fire, and he's heading straight for the ground. Bucky feels it- the hollow pit in his gut, wind rushing past like a million knives cutting skin, the clench in his chest knowing how it feels when flesh and bone meet solid earth.

"Get Cap!!" Daisy shouts and blasts the guy back a few steps, this time using both hands, "Hill!" 

Bucky starts running toward the beach, sees Maria pull up with a missile launcher, sees STRIKE surround the base, and doesn't worry about the rest.

Sam's spread out on the slippery rocks just beside the water, head hanging to the side like he's sleeping. 

Bucky storms over. His knees buckle before he even decides to kneel. But then he's beside Sam's lifeless body, forcing himself not to gather Sam up in his arms. He doesn't know what's broken; he doesn't know if…

God... fuck… he doesn't know if Sam's even breathing. He slips his finger underneath Sam's nose to check, and to his complete and utter horror, the metal doesn't steam up with Sam's breath. 

"Oh, god. Oh fuck. Fuck. Medics!!" He shouts into the comms, "Cap's down! Unresponsive!"

He vaguely hears Sharon's worried curse before his attention is back on Sam.

"Honey," he says, his heart pounding like a brutal, violent drum behind his ribs. He thinks, oh god, this is how he loses the one thing he loves most. "Sam… Come on. Wake up, huh? You gotta wake up. 

"Sammy, come on." He starts chest compressions, one two three, slow and light because again, he doesn't know what's broken. 

"Sam! Baby, come on!" He shouts, and with the last, helplessly desperate compression Sam shoots up with a sharp, harrowing gasp. 

"Hey doll, hey, you with me?" 

Sam nods, coughing, placing his hand over Bucky's and squeezing tight. "I'm here, Buck."

Bucky crumbles with relief. He leans down and kisses Sam's forehead…

… but realizes seconds too late that they're not alone. 

A camera snaps. A bright flash. The unmistakable sound of a recording ending. The inevitable _"oh my god."_ that follows.

Fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoy the last installment! it's been fun!

Sam's hospital room is by no means cramped; it's nice and spacious with two chairs beside his bed, and enough walking room. But Sam feels like the walls are closing in. 

And it's got nothing to do with his bruised ribs or the concussion or any of the thankfully minor injuries he sustained with the fall.

Maria Hill stands at the foot of his bed, scrolling through her social media feeds. Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, you name it, and their pictures are splattered all over: An image of Bucky's mouth gently touching Sam's forehead, his expression pained and begging, one hand tender on his cheek, and Sam cradled in his arms. 

There's even a video: "Sam! Baby, come on!" 

There's no denying that it's a profoundly intimate moment. Makes Sam feel kind of teary just looking at it.

"I'm so sorry," Bucky whispers beside him for the hundredth time that day. He'd been beating himself up since the moment he realized what he'd done. 

Sam can't stand the guilt-ridden look on his beautiful face. It reminds him too much of how miserably lost he was when they captured him in Bucharest. He reaches over and squeezes Bucky's hand. For the first time, he doesn't give one shit about people seeing. They've seen it all now, anyway.

"Shh, it's fine," Sam whispers back and watches some tension release from Bucky's furrowed brow. His fingers tighten in Sam's. "It's gonna be fine. We're fine." 

Finally, Hill seems to have seen enough, probably determined the damage and the next steps. She locks her phone and looks up at the two of them. Sam imagines they share a similar expression of a deer caught in headlights about to become roadkill because she lets out an uncharacteristic chuckle. 

"Well. It certainly would have helped to know beforehand," she says, "P.R team's been batting phone calls left right and center." 

"I'm sorry," Sam says, looks down, and focuses on Bucky's cold metal fingers on his skin as a distraction. And, like, he doesn't want to be here defending his relationship and the dude he loves. He wants to be home, in bed, preferably with Bucky's mouth on him, kissing all these bruises and scrapes. 

"Don't apologize, Cap," Hill says, the look in her eyes now tender almost, kind, "This is nothing to apologize for." He thinks he hears her mumble, 'kinda adorable' when she unlocks her phone again, but he can't be sure. 

Bucky runs his free hand through his hair, his sigh comes out like a stressful shudder. 

"Look," she says and hands her phone to Sam. Bucky leans in to see. 

It's a video of a bunch of kids at The LGBTQ+ Youth Center downtown. They're standing in a giant circle formation dressed in all the colors of the rainbow, and they're chanting "We love Cap" over and over. He has to choke back tears when he realizes the formation they're standing in is his shield.

"They needed this. The _world_ needed this, Sam," she says, carefully taking the phone from him. She slides her finger across the screen once and hands it to him again. There's a photo of Hill and a smaller woman in a close, laughing embrace. "I'm right there with you guys." 

Sam sniffs, tries so hard to keep the tears from spilling over. "Okay," he says, keeping his voice steady, then looks up at Bucky. He's met with a smile so relieved it just about knocks him over. "Alright. Now what?" 

Hill takes her phone back, "Up to you. We can keep the Press at bay for a while; we can simply say nothing and let them come to their own conclusions. Deny any relationship or tell them the truth. Your call." She looks at both Bucky and Sam.

"What do you wanna do, honey?" Bucky says so quietly, Sam barely hears him. His cheeks are tinted a slight pink now for calling Sam something so endearing out in the open after all this time. But the worry has seeped out of his expression.

And Sam looks at him, he thinks of the way he feels when they're together. How inexplicably happy Bucky makes him, and how hard it's been not being able to tell anyone that it feels like a swarm of butterflies rushing through his stomach when this man smiles at him. 

He doesn't want this to be a secret anymore; he just wants it to be the beautiful thing that it is.

"You wanna do it?" he asks Bucky, and as usual, his eyes twinkle with some kind of terribleness.

"Do _what?"_ he says, smirking, teasing, and Sam's heart swells and swells. 

With a snort, an aborted laugh, Sam rolls his eyes. Hill says, "Oh god is this what we're in for now??" and they all start laughing a little hysterically as the stress and tension of the last few days dwindle and dissipate. 

"Call a press conference," Sam says, looking at Bucky, reaching up to touch his face. Bucky smiles, eyes crinkled in the corner, and squeezes Sam's hand.

"Alright." Hill nods, gets up to leave, "Now, rest. I'll be in touch."

"Ma'am." Bucky salutes her.

And once the door shuts and they're alone, Bucky leans down to kiss Sam square on the mouth. It's a sweet lingering thing, something tender and almost new and exposed to the world now, even here in private.

When Bucky pulls away, his eyes open slowly, the tip of his nose touching Sam's, and he says, "You're gorgeous." 

Sam stretches out, hands behind his head, "I know," he says lazily, grinning up at Bucky. 

"Jesus Christ." Bucky rolls his eyes. He pats Sam's thigh, "Come on, shift up, big head." and then he's climbing onto the hospital bed with Sam, curling up to his side. His arm slinks carefully over Sam's abdomen, resting over his bandaged ribs. His face buries into Sam's neck, and his breath is warm and slow against Sam's skin. 

"Don't scare me like that again," Bucky says. There's a slight tremble in his voice now that hadn't been there even when the accident just happened. 

"Hmm." Sam's meds start kicking in but he manages to squeeze Bucky's hand. He closes his eyes and melts into the warmth beside him.

"You and me." 

"Always," Sam slurs, and before he drifts off, he feels Bucky place a kiss on the edge of his jaw.

* * *

**Eve Duval, columnist for The Golden Press**

**June 1st**

Captain America steps onto the podium decorated with royal blue and gold and little American flags flapping in the light breeze. He is in navy blue dress uniform, glittering medals and cuffs, a sight to behold.

The crowd below watches, cameras flash, as they welcome him to the fore with claps and whistles and song. The man clears his throat and steadies his hands on either side of the now seemingly small stand given the broad set of his shoulders. 

Behind him, a meter or so from the left stands Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, formerly known as the Winter Soldier. His hair is tidied and parted to the side, his blue coat neatly buttoned up, and his hands folded in front of him. He looks every bit as he does in the history text books, give or take a new wrinkle or two.

As the crowd begins to settle, the Captain swivels briefly to look to his left. The only sign of any nerves whatsoever is the small, questioning smile he gives James Barnes. 

The Sergeant nods a slow go-ahead as a hush falls over the onlookers. 

And then the man of the hour says, "Good afternoon, New York."

Cheers and joyous excitement resound from his audience. Claps that echo and resume for about a minute; the Captain doesn't silence the crowd; he simply waits his turn to speak again. There is a profound sense of pride expanding between his shoulders now as he listens and watches. 

Then, in a moment of sudden and absolute certainty, he picks up the script that had no doubt been prepared for him by Shield's H.R representatives and folds it carefully back into his breast pocket. It's a wild card move judging by the wide eyes of his entourage, except James Barnes. His gaze blinks slowly away from the Captain, and the poker face gives way to a crooked, knowing smile.

Cap slumps forward on the podium, his one leg bending casually, tipping the mic to his lips so that there is no lack of clarity about what he says next.

He says, "I am Captain America."

He smirks.

"And I am bisexual." 

The eruption of screams that follow drown out anything else in the near vicinity. A massive rainbow flag is hoisted up and passed along the crowd from the very back. A pink, purple and blue one of equal size follows, and soon they're both handed up to the Captain. 

His grin is brighter than even the sun as he takes both in one hand and waves them up high with the fierce pride of a lion. 

The screaming only gets louder, deafening, at the sight of the vivid colors floating in the breeze at his hands. The sight of a new era blazing and bright astonishes even the skeptics, the ones who whispered in the back row and grumbled about the good old days. 

On the podium, Agents Johnson and Carter, Shield's Director Al MacKenzie, and his wife, along with Commander Hill also of Shield, look at their colleague, clapping, some even wiping up a stray tear or two. Agent Johnson lets out a deafening whistle and shouts _, "Go, Baby!"_ The others laugh. Perhaps an inside joke between the seemingly close-knit team.

Captain America doesn't say anything else; he has made a very bold and eloquent point to supplement the recent photographs. And, if perhaps, that hadn't been crystal clear, he holds his hand out for James to take. 

An inexplicable look passes over James' face as he slides his palm into the Captain's. It's something warm and heartening and utterly content, and it makes one look away in fear of witnessing something so private. 

They depart with enthusiastic waves from Captain America and slightly more reserved, stiff-handed waves from Barnes. Even though his head is ducked, there is an unmissable smile on his face, quick, shy glances at his partner that will no doubt be the sparkling headlines of every gossip magazine in the morning.

One thing is absolutely sure: The hands clasped between them as they leave the stage have done so a thousand times before. Their bodies are ones that know each other; this is their most vulnerable selves they will ever let us see.

* * *

**Jess** @fuckyeahavengers…6m

captain america did that, huh? he said bi rights and walked away holding his bottom's hand?? Ok.

**Drew Pennigton** @morningliveradio… 6m

literally me at that public address

**Sam Wilson Stan Acc** @quietimcrying…7m

oh mygod oh my gfucking ghod oh my god

**kyla loves the winter soldier** @barnesbaby… 5m

**Senator Andrew White** @andrewwhite… 4m

Despicable. Steve Rogers would never.

**Steven Grant Rogers** @steverogersofficial… 5m

Replying to @andrewwhite

LMAOOOOO

* * *

Hill invites the team out for lunch a couple of Fridays later, Sam's last day on injured leave.

And really, Bucky should have known if he never lived down the "baby" situation, _this_ wasn't going away either. 

"Oh," Sharon says, gets up from her seat just as they arrive, and heads over to usher them in. She shoos Parker out of the way, "Mind yourself! It's Captain America and his _boyfriend."_

"Christ," Bucky sighs, feels himself pulling his face up in a grimace. Sam laughs, amused and entirely unaffected, and turns to Bucky. His grin is alive and bright, beautiful as anything, and capturing Bucky's heart as easily as the first time he saw it.

Daisy's up now too, "Wait, let me help," she brings over a chair from the far end and parks it next to an open spot, "I got a love seat for Captain America and his _boyfriend_ right here."

Bucky leads him over to their seats with his hand on Sam's lower back, comfortable and grounding and just a little nerve-wracking under everyone's gaze. They'll need to get used to this, need to decide just how much of themselves they're willing to show like that reporter said.

There's a happy buzz all around, small talk, the team taking turns to check how Sam's doing. Parker makes fun of Sam for needing stitches, and Bucky reminds him that even radioactive spiders crush real easy under vibranium. The collective response to Bucky sticking up for Sam is "awww." 

Bucky wants to run away.

"Can we get Cap and his _boyfriend_ something to drink?" Maria signals down the waiter, gives them a terrible look, and smiles.

Under the table, Sam cups his hand over Bucky's knee and squeezes. In a low whisper, he says, "Hey, _boyfriend_." 

_" Sam._ Come on. I'm 108 years old." He elbows Sam, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he scoots his chair closer, so he's flanked under Bucky's arm. And yeah, maybe Bucky is his stupid boyfriend, maybe he'll be any goddamn thing Sam wants him to be. 

"Kinda nasty," Sam says, grinning up at him. 

And shit, he's perfect, and Bucky's so terribly happy and in love, and he doesn't really want to think about it too hard. It's too much, too real. He sees the same thing on Sam's face. He feels it too, knows it deep in his bones and his heart, and it weakens him the same way it does Bucky. 

So he leans sideways and down and kisses Captain America, soft and sweetly, revels in the way his eyes slowly blink open before the table erupts in catcalls and cheers. 

It's worth it the way he feels Sam smile against his mouth. 

* * *

Bucky throws his arm around Sam's neck to hold on. Sam's got him against a wall, holding him up beneath his thighs, and whatever he's doing is making his dick press up against Bucky's prostate with unforgivingly short and sharp thrusts. 

Sam knows what he's doing because he smiles, sinks in deep with the last thrust, and licks into Bucky's mouth. 

"Tight for an old dude," he says a little breathlessly, not from exertion but because he's chasing the same thing Bucky is, sweaty with it now.

"Dick," Bucky replies, sucks in a breath, and braces himself on the side table with one hand.

"Damn right." Sam articulates with a quick, hard thrust, "Taking it real good too, huh?" 

Bucky hums, licks his lips, closes his eyes, and enjoys the feel of his body bouncing, the hot drag of Sam in and out of him. Weakly he smiles, feeling another wave of pleasure build while Sam nips at his throat. 

Then Sam pulls away from the wall and carries him over to the bed, lays him out like a buffet without disconnecting them, and continues.

Only now, it's so much deeper.

They both let out a groan, something appreciative and pleased all at once, and then three thrusts in Sam hauls Bucky's leg up on his shoulder and goes in for the kill. 

"Slow down, cowboy, you still got a concussion," Bucky breathes, adjusting his hips against the pressure.

But Sam smiles something wicked and drives in again, "My dick doesn't have a concussion, grandpa," he says.

And Bucky would laugh, but Sam leans forward, folds Bucky nearly in half, and then he's fucking him fast and hot, with purpose. His face is gorgeously slack with pleasure and concentration. Bucky can get off just looking. 

But Sam hits that spot again, hits home two times quick, and Bucky comes all over himself with a surprised gasp. Long, wet streaks splattering between them.

"Ah, fuck, baby, look at you," Sam says, almost painfully, biting down on his lip, really putting his back into it just as Bucky starts jerking his still-hard dick, tiptoes on the edge of too much and hurting just right. 

"Sam..." he says, and Sam reaches down to cup his face, looks at him with his eyes like tiger stone, his lips looking honey-slick, his muscles taut and rippling.... and he's done for again. It isn't a lot, a few drops, but it feels like a collision. 

"Jesus... fuck!" Sam watches in disbelief, his thumb sliding into Bucky's open mouth, and the last few thrusts come hard and sharp, and then Sam's spilling inside of him. 

He goes until he's shivering, moaning faint and hoarse, fingers denting into the meat of Bucky's thighs. 

He goes until Bucky's twitching and matching his desperately depleted sounds, repeating his name uselessly. 

He goes until they're both absolutely overcome with pleasure, drowned in each other, eyes locked.

And when there's nothing left but euphoric floating, an invisible but tangible glow all around, the two of them lie there and soak it up. 

Sam noses Bucky's neck, still inside him but growing soft now, and he whispers, "Love you." like a secret even though the world knows it now. They'd never know this. 

Bucky runs his fingers over Sam's scalp, down his neck, his spine, then back up. "I know." He whispers back. "A good lay like that, you gotta love me."

He feels Sam laugh silently against his skin before kissing at his throat again.

"I love you more, Cap," Bucky tells him. 

And when Sam looks up, seeming almost disbelieving, and blinks at Bucky with lashes longer than they got any business being, Bucky says, "More than you'll ever know."

Sam only lowers his head and lets Bucky kiss him. 

They don't move for another few hours. There's nowhere to be until tomorrow when they face the Press again and answer thousands of the same kinds of questions about their relationship. How long? When? Who knew? The first time they kissed? The moment _they_ knew? While Bucky was under Hydra's control? How will this affect Sam's ability to do his job?

But those are worries for later. Right now, it's just them, here, now, always. 

The world be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only fitting to end this fic on a smutty note lol. 
> 
> rebloggable post for this fic [here](https://glittercake.tumblr.com/post/637337098851172353/like-soldiers-do)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Find me on tumblr too: [glittercake](https://glittercake.tumblr.com/)


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